


Hark

by MisplacedLonelyHeartsAd



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Creepy, Dark, Episode Tag, Episode: s10e14 The Executioner's Song, Gen, M/M, Mark of Cain, Wincest (implied), episode coda, my apologies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-18 05:56:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3558644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MisplacedLonelyHeartsAd/pseuds/MisplacedLonelyHeartsAd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A glimpse into Dean's head after s10e14 The Executioner's Song.</p>
<p>
  <em>The Mark has a voice. You’ve always heard it: in the beginning as an unintelligible whisper, a slightly mocking laugh, a wordless guttural criticism at crucial moments. Nothing you couldn’t handle, disturbing as it was. Nothing you’d admit to Sam.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hark

**Author's Note:**

  * For [frozen_delight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/frozen_delight/gifts).



> This is for my friend [frozen_delight](http://archiveofourown.org/users/frozen_delight). Inspired by your moodier tales, I give you this dark weird glimpse into what might be going on in Dean’s head after s10e14.

* * *

 

_Dean._

The Mark has a voice. You’ve always heard it: in the beginning as an unintelligible whisper, a slightly mocking laugh, a wordless guttural criticism at crucial moments. Nothing you couldn’t handle, disturbing as it was. Nothing you’d admit to Sam.

It’s worse now, though. You hear it all the time, a calm, conversational voice that sounds like Cain’s. Or maybe it’s your dad’s. Or maybe it’s your own. Does it matter?

_How are you feeling?_

That’s a real voice. It’s your brother. You love him dearly. You cling desperately to this conviction, the only certainty you have ever known in this world, for dear life. It’s too bad that the strain and struggle to hold on leave you little energy to bluff, to smile convincingly, to deliver the reassuring bluster that would ease his fears, for you hate to see him so afraid.

You know that it’s you he’s afraid of now, don’t you?

Poor Sam. Poor Abel. Did I love my brother like you love yours? You know I did. We are very much alike, I told you when I first saw you, and I meant it. I loved my brother just as you love yours—no, don’t shrink from the thought. The maddening love that you believe to be dark, twisted, unnatural—it defines us. The contradictory love that hungers to devour what it should preserve—this is our bond.

_You must be starving._

Here he is now; look at him. No, really look at him. See him smile for you, your brave boy. Sam is beautiful. Was Abel beautiful? It doesn’t matter. I have only one memory of his face now. When he was near me, it seemed only natural that I should have no other desire than to look at him. To live for his smile, to feel I could be content only when he was by my side. Why wouldn’t others? Why wouldn’t Lucifer? I know better now, of course. Lucifer had no interest in my brother—my trusting and stainless brother—for his pet. He wanted me.

Dark, twisted, unnatural me.

_I got you some doughnuts. Or do you want eggs?_

What better bait than my own brother, whom I cherished above all else on earth? What better motivator than jealousy—not envy, no, that tale is all wrong; what did I care for the approbation of heaven? I wanted only Abel, and to see him wooed by sweet talk and false promises—well, I don’t need to explain. You’ve gone through this yourself. Ruby was only a petty demon, though. Imagine, if you will, how well the father of lies worked his spell. Remember that he was an angel.

_Cas made me, like, the worst sandwich in the world yesterday._

Sam’s very close to Castiel these days, isn’t he? Well, well, don’t fret. Your brother needs a shoulder to cry on, and who is left from all your cohort? Most of your friends are dead. Your angel is weak, and weakening, but he’s better than nothing. Castiel means well. He always has. Even when he wanted to become God. Of course, we know the road to hell is beautifully paved, don’t we?

Don’t we, Dean? And the worst part is, we can’t tell how far down the road we’ve gone. Not until it’s too late.

_I was gonna do some laundry today, so…No, I’ll do it, it’s fine._

Your brother’s terribly charming sometimes. Abel was like that. Sweet as a lamb. You’d think that I would have grown tired of it. I never did. He should have lived as an innocent in paradise, a child of Eden. I did my best to preserve that innocence. Believe me, I did my best to protect my brother, Dean, and so will you.

Lucifer—what did he offer me? I told you that I proposed a deal: Abel’s soul in heaven for mine in hell. That’s not exactly true: it was a counter-offer. Lucifer’s proposal was much more enticing: my brother and I, together, for all time, at Lucifer’s right hand, princelings of hell. I surprised him. He scarcely thought I would refuse, not with my brother begging me to accept, clinging to me like a vine.

_Dean…? Nothing, I just asked if you wanted more coffee._

Like a vine. This is the burden, Dean. The burden is temptation. You know what you’ll become, and you know you’ll grow far, far more powerful than you ever were as Crowley’s little drinking buddy. You also know that with your power you could transform your brother into a demon’s dream come true. How do you think I made my knights?

_Or maybe some ibuprofen? How’s your head?_

Oh, the temptation is there, isn’t it? Sam forever at your side, fed from the vile nameless life in your own veins. Sam, dark and twisted and unnatural as yourself. Ah, you shake your head and scowl and vow never, never. Then listen to me, my son, listen: the only safe place for your brother is heaven, just as it was for mine.

_Sorry. I’ll leave you alone._

Dean, know this: I have been haunted by the face of my dying brother for thousands of years, but I would not change what I chose to do. I have no regrets, not on that score. I saved my brother, not from Lucifer, but from myself.

Forgive me. If I had been kinder I would have killed you when first you appeared at my door to disrupt the makeshift peace of my late days. I was selfish. I felt our kinship, and I saw the means to my oblivion at hand. But do not think that I have no compassion for you.

When the time comes, don’t flinch. Be brave. Be strong. Be quick.

And avert your eyes.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> When I too long have looked upon your face,  
> Wherein for me a brightness unobscured  
> Save by the mists of brightness has its place,  
> And terrible beauty not to be endured,  
> I turn away reluctant from your light,  
> And stand irresolute, a mind undone,  
> A silly, dazzled thing deprived of sight  
> From having looked too long upon the sun.  
> Then is my daily life a narrow room  
> In which a little while, uncertainly,  
> Surrounded by impenetrable gloom,  
> Among familiar things grown strange to me  
> Making my way, I pause, and feel, and hark,  
> Till I become accustomed to the dark. 
> 
> —Edna St. Vincent Millay
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading. I love feedback. You can find me on tumblr at: [amisplacedlonelyheartsad.tumblr.com](http://amisplacedlonelyheartsad.tumblr.com) or on LJ at: [misplaced_ad.livejournal.com](http://misplaced_ad.livejournal.com)
> 
> If you are curious about the sandwich Cas made for Sam, I wrote about it here: [Crusts](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3493982)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Dark Side](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4194645) by [bluesailor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesailor/pseuds/bluesailor)




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